


Ampersand of My Heart

by nicalyse



Series: Cast Iron Hearts [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4365593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicalyse/pseuds/nicalyse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mornings like this, slow and easy, are some of her favorites with Bressie. She can't help thinking about what it might be like to have them all the time.</p><p>In which Niall realizes that she's fallen in love with her best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ampersand of My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Bar Fight With My Heart in that it occurs in the same verse, though you need not read that to read this. It is not a story about Nick and Louis, though I do have plans for another of those in this verse as well. I do hope that those of you who enjoyed that story will give this one a chance.

Niall's been back in London for exactly eight hours when she calls Bressie, and five of those were spent sleeping.

"What's doin', chief?"

"Come over," she replies with fanfare. "And bring food, please. I'm starving and there's nothing here."

He lets himself into the house an hour later, carting takeaway from Nando's and a half-dozen carrier bags from the grocery.

"Did you buy me groceries?" she asks, pawing through the bags when he sets them on the bench in the kitchen. "You didn't have to do that."

"You said you didn't have anything," he replies, putting milk and butter and who knows what else into the refrigerator. Niall paws through another bag and finds a box of cereal and three bags of crisps, bless him. "Can't have you withering away."

He catches her eye and smiles, quick and sweet, and she returns it fondly. For all that Niall is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, it's nice to know that she can call Bressie if she wants someone else take care of her a little bit.

Back when they first met, just after the band lost X Factor and she moved to London for keeps, the insinuation that she might need to be taken care of had pissed her off.

"I don't need 'looking out for,'" she'd said when they first met, spitting his words back at him and raising a pointed eyebrow, "and I'm offended that you think I do."

Bressie had lifted both hands, a gesture of surrender. "It was a poor choice of words. I just mean that I'm here, if you need anything. Even if it's just knowing that there's someone from home close by." He'd watched her carefully when he folded his big hands on the tabletop. "Just in case."

"Just in case," she'd repeated. 

"You can always call me," he'd said, earnest, "no matter what."

A week and a half later she showed up at his flat, pretending that she was only there for help with her guitar and not because she was feeling homesick for Ireland and left out in her own band while the other girls paired off. He never called her out on it, though in hindsight she realizes that he must have known something more was going on. He restrung her guitar and taught her a new song, and when she left later that afternoon, she felt better.

It was a beginning. Bressie is still there for her, no matter what, and their friendship has grown a lot in four years.

"Got back this morning, yeah?" Bressie asks, putting away the last of the groceries - he even bought beer, the love - while Niall dishes their food out onto plates. "How was Dubai?"

"Crazy," she answers, licking perinaise off her thumb. "Amazing. Exhausting." Niall and the girls have been to a lot of places in the last few years, but there are some that are harder to believe than others, and Dubai is on that list. 

"Jet-lagged?" he asks, pouring them both glasses of water.

She shrugs. "Tired."

They eat on the sofa with an old episode of _Full House_ on the telly, and after Niall has eaten what feels like her weight in chicken and rice, she tucks herself up under Bressie's arm, curling her legs up beside her and tugging a throw blanket off the back of the sofa to drape over both of them. It's comfortable, just being there with him. When he starts gently rubbing over her arm, his fingertips slipping up beneath the sleeve of her too-big t-shirt, she shivers, goose pimples rising in his wake.

"All right?" he murmurs when he notices, reaching for the blanket to pull it up to her shoulders.

"I'm fine." She pushes the blanket back and shifts to plant herself in his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. She leans in, nuzzling a little kiss against the underside of his jaw, her lips catching on the rasp of his stubble as she skims her way to his mouth. She teases him with little not-quite kisses until his hand slides up her back into her hair, tugging at the roots to loosen the topknot already messy from sleeping on it for so long.

"Niall." His voice is low and a bit rough, his fingers scritching at her scalp raising goose pimples all over again. She kisses him, just lightly, sliding her hands up over his biceps, skimming over the broad bulk of his shoulders. "I thought you were tired."

She hums, curving one hand around his jaw and tilting his head so she can kiss him again, just flicking her tongue against his before leaning back, out of his reach. "I figured I'd let you do all the work."

Bressie huffs out a laugh that gets caught in her mouth when she kisses him again, properly this time, rocking her hips forward against him, not a tease but a promise.

And fuck but it feels good to kiss Bressie again. He's big and solid and warm beneath her, his movements practiced and sure. Niall can pull with the best of them - she's easily the best in the band, even Harry has to admit it - but there's a lot to be said for being with someone who already knows how to get you off.

She kisses him slow and easy, slipping into it until she starts to feel some urgency, her hips shifting restlessly while she threads her fingers through his hair to keep him where she wants him. His fingers grip her hips, just slipping up under the hem of her tee shirt, but he lets her go easily when she slides back out of his lap, looking up at her when she stands. She crosses her arms to pull her shirt up over her head, dropping it in his lap; without Bressie pressed right up against her, the air of the room is too cool against her bare breasts.

"Come on then," she murmurs, flicking off the telly and dropping the remote to the coffee table with a clatter and heading for the stairs. She smiles to herself when she hears Bressie following behind, though he doesn't touch her again until they're in her bedroom with the door closed.

*

Niall wouldn't say that she'd had a crush on Bressie from the beginning, but she'd have had to be blind not to notice that he was right fit. And then, one night when Niall was home on break from tour and she and Bressie had gone to a concert in London, they wound up in bed together. And then again after a night out with the LIC to celebrate her birthday. And after a Sunday roast barbecue that Niall hosted. It might have been done when she went out on tour; the time apart might have made one of them decide that the thing between them shouldn't be a thing any more. But then two days after she flew back to Mullingar to visit her dad, she found herself driving to Dublin to spend the night in bed with Bressie.

So it's a thing.

They aren't dating. They're friends who have sex. Best friends - because outside of her bandmates and her family, there isn't a person in the world who Niall loves and trusts more than Bressie - who have really great sex, but still nothing more. Niall hasn't really ever thought about dating Bressie, and if he's thought about it, he hasn't said anything to her. Their schedules are mad, with her out of the country for at least six months each year and him constantly busy with one thing or another. She pulls now and then when she's on tour, and she's sure that Bressie isn't living like a monk while she's gone. It works for them.

It works _very_ well for them, she thinks, swinging her leg over Bressie's hips so she can flop back against the pillows. The mid-morning sunlight is seeping around the edges of the curtains, and Niall's whole body feels pleasantly loose and warm.

"Jesus," Bressie mumbles beside her, turning on his side and sliding his hand over her stomach. Her skin is tacky with sweat. "G'mornin'."

"Mmm, mornin'." Niall stretches her arms up over her head and arches her back off the sheets, smirking to herself when she sees Bressie's eyes on her breasts. "You bought things for a fry up, yeah?"

"Bacon and eggs and that, yeah."

"Good." She climbs out of bed and goes to open the curtains on the closest window. "I'm going to shower, then I'll do breakfast. You'll stay?"

Bressie squints a little into the brightness. "Sure, chief."

When she emerges from the shower, the bed has been neatly made. Downstairs, the mess that they left in front of the telly the night before has been cleared away, and in the kitchen Niall finds Bressie standing over a skillet of sizzling bacon, two mugs of tea steaming in front of the kettle. "I said I was going to cook," she admonishes, taking the mug furthest from Bressie and leaning back against the counter to take a sip. He's already put in the sugar just how she likes it.

"I don't mind," he replies. "You can slice the bread."

Niall takes another sip of her tea and pushes back her wet hair before she gets the bread from the box, knocking Bressie with her hip when she reaches past him to pull the bread knife from the block. He jostles her back without hesitating.

*

"Niall!" Eoghan exclaims when she steps into the pub. "Where have you fecking been?"

"Australia," she answers, deadpan even as he scoops her up into a hug, her feet off the floor and his arms too tight around her ribs. "Japan. South Africa. Dubai."

"Fuck off, Dubai," he laughs, setting her back on her feet.

"You asked."

"It was rhetorical!"

Niall shakes her head, turning away from Eoghan to walk to the table at the back of the pub where Bressie and Sean and Laura are waiting. Laura is already out of her chair, her arms open wide to catch Niall when she throws herself at her. "Your hair!" she exclaims.

"My hair," Laura scoffs, though she brings a self-conscious had up to it, much shorter than it was the last time Niall saw her. "Look at you! What is this dress?"

Niall shrugs. "Had a meeting earlier, and this is one of the dresses Caroline sent me for shit like that." She twists, tugging at the neckline. "What's the tag say?"

"Jesus, Niall," Laura laughs, pulling Niall's hands back down by her sides. "We'll look later, yeah?"

It's good to be back with the LIC; she hasn't seen most of them since Harry's birthday party, and it can be hard to keep up with texting and such when you can't keep track of what time zone you're in. It's nice to spend time with people who really _know_ her. It's different than the girls, who are like family now, to the extent that sometimes they know her _too_ well. It feels good to take the piss out of Eoghan and chat with Laura, tucked away next to Bressie in a high-backed booth in a pub with a pint.

Predictably, Sean leaves early to get home to his lady and Eoghan finds someone to hit on at the bar when he goes to get them another round. Niall wishes she'd been able to go home before coming out, uncomfortable as she is in her meeting dress, one of those that has the sort of internal structure that requires good posture or has stuff poking you.

"You all right?" Bressie asks, voice low under Laura berating Eoghan for taking so long at the bar.

"Yeah." She shifts uncomfortably. "This dress is shite."

"Looks good."

"Feels like shite," she repeats, wriggling her shoulders a little. She'd like to be in jeans and a jumper, or, better yet, joggers and a hoodie, but it is what it is. She looks up at Bressie through her eyelashes and smiles prettily. "A whiskey might make it better."

"How do you figure?"

She shrugs one shoulder delicately. "Girl gets drunk enough, she forgets that her clothes are uncomfortable."

Bressie chuckles, a low rumble that Niall feels against her side where they're pressed together as much as hears. "How about I get you a whiskey then?" he says, sliding out of the booth.

"Aw, Brez," she coos, leaning her elbow on the table and her chin on her had. "You don't have to do that."

He just laughs, shaking his head as he walks to the bar.

Niall has her whiskey, and more beer besides, but she doesn't get drunk enough to forget about her dress. It's fine though. It's enough to be out with a group of people who don't _need_ anything from her but for her to be herself. It's a thing that happens all too rarely in Niall's life these days, and she knows well enough to hold on to the moments that she has.

She slides back into the booth after obliterating Eoghan at darts - he has the worst hand-eye coordination of ayone she's ever seen when he's been drinking, and Niall knows Harry Styles - pressing herself close to Bressie's side, resting her hand atop his thigh. "Chief," he greets, voice low. 

"Big plans tomorrow?" Across the table, Laura glances up from the screen of her phone to shoot her a knowing look.

"Nah. Go for a run, maybe do some laundry."

Niall hums, sliding her hand to the inside of his thigh, tracing the seam of his jeans with a fingertip. "No reason you can't take me home with you tonight then, yeah?"

"S'pose not. You ready to go then?"

She flexes her hand just a little, testing the bulk of his muscle. "Not yet. Laura owes me a game of darts."

Laura arches an eyebrow, but says nothing as Niall presses a quick kiss to the underside of Bressie's jaw, following Niall out of the booth when she goes. "You know," she says once they're out of earshot of the table, "I don't think you have to work so hard with Brez."

"Oh, babe," Niall says, eying up the target and aiming. "Don't you know it's not work if you enjoy it?"

*

Niall is deep in her closet, sorting through her spring and summer clothes, weeding out things that she knows she won't wear again for the charity shop, the pile on the floor just outside the door growing steadily as she goes, singing along with whatever comes up on iTunes shuffle. She's belting the chorus of a Little Mix song when her phone chirps with a text alert.

_Have you started dinner yet?_

Truthfully, Niall had completely lost track of the day, and the time stamp on the text is later than she'd realized. _Nope, but I can make something quick if you're on your way._

_We could do Chinese instead? I'll be at yours in 40._

Niall makes a face at her phone. Chinese is Bressie's splurge food, the junk that he eats when he's had a crap day. _Perfect,_ she replies. _I'll call in the order._

"Sorry I'm late," Bressie calls as soon as he's through the front door forty-five minutes later. Niall can hear him toeing off his shoes from the kitchen.

"You're not," she says. "The food just got here." She's only had time to eat one of the spring rolls while she was getting out plates and cutlery.

Bressie comes into the kitchen in his sock feet, carrying a bouquet of tulips wrapped in brown paper. "What are these for?" Niall asks, taking the bouquet.

"There was a cart outside the studio." He shrugs. "They made me think of you." 

They're lovely, saturated pink and rich lilac and creamy orange with yellow edging the petals, all still closed tightly enough that they'll last for ages before they have to be thrown out. "Thanks, big head," Niall says quietly. "I ordered extra prawn crackers for you."

"Thanks, chief." He leans down to press a kiss to her temple, reaching into the carton between them.

*

Two weeks before the tour resumes, Niall heads to a studio for rehearsal. They're changing up the setlist a bit from the first leg and trying to address some of the (valid) criticism that they received for the early shows. Niall's spent a couple of weeks back in Mullingar with her family, hanging out with her dad and spoiling Theo as rotten as she can manage, and the last few days have been spent at Bressie's, living out of the same bag that she took back to Ireland. After years of touring, she's gotten used to making do.

Niall and Liam are sitting on a weirdly uncomfortable sofa talking about _Orphan Black_ when Louis comes in, clutching a travel mug that's almost certainly filled with tea and wearing a Britney Spears tee shirt Niall is sure she's seen on Nick Grimshaw before.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Niall greets brightly. 

Louis scowls behind the sunglasses she still hasn't taken off. "I'm in a good mood, but it's way too fucking early for that." She flops down beside Liam, listing into her side and clutching at her tea a little desperately.

Harry arrives just behind Lou, smile bright and hair messy, a too-big stack of bracelets jangling on her wrist. "Morning, Liam." She leans down to kiss Liam's forehead before perching on the coffee table in front of them, folding her legs up like a pretzel. "Nice of you two to resurface," she says with pointed looks at both Niall and Louis.

Louis squawks, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair. "How very dare you! Why aren't you giving Liam grief?"

"Because Liam didn't respond to my texts with, 'shagging Nick, talk later.'"

"I answered you," Niall points out. She always keeps in touch with the girls when they're on break, even when the girls - Zayn, mostly - don't exactly keep in touch themselves.

"Yeah, but I know what you've been up to with Bressie," Harry says.

Niall reaches over to pluck Louis' glasses from her hair, slipping them onto her own face. "Fuck you, Hazza," she says breezily, smiling sweetly when Harry makes a face.

"It's not like you didn't spend a month in LA," Liam points out, and Niall knows from experience that the only thing that keeps Louis from tackling Harry off the table is the fear of spilling her tea.

Zayn arrives twenty minutes late, listless and quiet, hair a mess and an oversized jumper slipping off one narrow shoulder. Helene hustles them into a vocal practice before Niall can check in with her, so she tucks herself close to Zayn instead, hooking her foot around Zayn's ankle while they run the harmonies on one of the new songs they're adding to the setlist.

They fall back into their rhythms easily, and soon enough Helene is rolling her eyes at Louis for flicking rubber bands at Liam while she's running her solos, Harry's giggles egging her on. Niall makes the most of their breaks, but it always feels good to be back with her girls.

*

Niall volunteers to host Sunday roast for the crew the last weekend before she and the girls head back out on tour, traipsing across Europe for a month before heading to North America. She tidies the house - even though the cleaner was in just a few days ago - and goes to the market herself instead of ordering in groceries.

They don't always have proper roast for Sunday roast, despite the name. Laura's bolognese is a favorite, and Eoghan is such a hopeless cook that they often have burgers and sausages off the grill - which someone else mans - when it's his turn to host.

But Niall isn't hopeless and she likes spending time in the kitchen. Per tradition, Niall will do the main, and everyone else will bring sides. They'll all eat and drink and hang out, no pressure. The meal is less likely to devolve into a drunken party than it used to be, but that does't mean that it's any less fun.

She's just finished peeling the potatoes when the security system chimes softly to let her know that someone's keyed through the gate. She doesn't have to look up to know it's Bressie, and carries on with her prep without pause; he has a key.

"Chief?"

"Kitchen."

He appears a moment later, sharp in a deep brown leather jacket, a covered dish in one hand and a carrier bag in the other. "Hey." She peers into the bag when he sets in on the bench. "Ooo, posh," she says when she sees three bottles of red wine.

Bressie doesn't respond, setting his dish on the back counter and leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Early for this, isn't it?" he asks, nodding to the potatoes on the board.

"Just getting ahead," she replies. "Early for you though, yeah?"

"Nah." He grins, watching her as he shrugs out of his jacket. "Have to spend time with you while you're still here."

The muscles of his back flex pleasingly under the stretch of his tee shirt when he turns to take his jacket back to the coat closet. Niall admires it until he's out of sight, then goes back to her potatoes. If she hurries, she might be able to seduce him into a quick shag and still have enough time to shower before everyone is due to arrive.

It doesn't quite work out that way. She's just gotten the potatoes covered with cold water and set aside when the security system buzzes, announcing Laura's arrival.

"What's wrong?" Bressie asks when she makes a face at the security monitor.

"I forgot I told her to come early and have a look at the clothes I'm getting rid of." He raises an eyebrow. "If she's here I can't take advantage of you," she spells out with a huff, circling the counter to tap the button to open the gate.

Bressie laughs when she pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. "There'll be time for that later, chief."

"Will there?" 

He comes to stand in front of her, tracing his fingertips along her collarbone until they're just tucked under the neckline of her shirt. "Yeah. Promise."

Niall reaches up to curve her hand around the side of his neck, tugging him down until she can kiss him soundly, nipping lightly at his bottom lip. "There better be," she mumbles, letting him go and going to meet Laura in the front hall.

They stick close together all night. Bressie helps her finish putting everything together for dinner once everyone has arrived, and they take seats beside each other when they eat. She brings him a new beer when they move down to the game room for a round of Cards Against Humanity, and his only response when she drapes her legs across his lap, her back propped up against the arm of the sofa, is to set his hands atop her knees, his thumb tracing the line of her surgical scar slowly.

It's a filthy, inappropriate, drunken mess of a game, and god, Niall loves her friends.

"Are you sure about all of this?" Laura asks later, when Niall is helping her load two carrier bags filled with Niall's cast off clothes and accessories into the back of her cab. 

"Positive. Caroline'll skin me if I don't get rid of it." It's a deal they made years ago; Caroline won't give Niall grief about what she wears in her downtime so long as she wears nice things when she's out and about. "Whatever you don't take's going to the charity shop anyhow."

"If you're sure," Laura hedges, shoving a hand through her already messy hair before leaning in and pressing a kiss to the side of Niall's head. "Love you."

"Bye, babe."

Niall waits until Laura's cab has pulled away from the curb to head back inside, her arms wrapped around herself against the late night chill. She finds Bressie in the kitchen, standing at the sink, scrubbing the roasting pan. "You don't have to do that," she says softly.

"I don't mind."

She leans against the edge of the countertop and watches the way the muscles of his arms shift as he scrubs. The cleaning liquid smells of lemon, sharp and artificial above the lingering aroma of roast meat and potatoes. He sets the sponge aside when he's finished and turns the water back on, rinsing slowly. "Brez," she breathes, and she can hear the neediness in her own voice.

The pan clatters loudly when Bressie drops it in the sink, fumbling for the faucet to turn the water off before reaching for Niall, his hands still wet when he grips the sides of her top to pull her up onto her toes for a fierce kiss.

She laughs when he lifts her up onto the worktop to get a better angle, the sound muffled between their mouths. She spreads her knees around his hips, hooking her feet behind his thighs to pull him closer as she sucks his lower lip into her mouth, grazing her teeth over the fullness of it. Bressie's hand are gentle when they skim up her back, pulling light through the ends of her hair, just slipping beneath the hem of her top, fingers still damp and warm.

"Brez." She rocks her hips forward, restless, pulling at his shoulder in an effort to get him closer.

"Shh." He kisses her again, just soft, then lifts her down to her feet. "Let's go upstairs."

Niall sways forward to press a kiss to his chest, then tips her head back, smiling up at him sweetly. "All right." She tugs her shirt over her head and drops it on the floor between them, blinking up at him once, then brushes past to head upstairs. She smiles to herself when she hears him huff out a breath, reaching back to unhook her bra, dropping it on the floor without pause.

He catches her at the foot of the stairs, a thick arm banded about her waist and his lips at the back of her neck. "Niall."

She presses her hips back for just a moment, bum against the thickening line of his cock in his jeans. "C'mon then."

In her bedroom, Niall flicks on the lamp on the bedside table and lets Bressie press her gently back into the pillows, big and solid above her, his clothes and hers in a heap on the floor. And while he's usually quite happy to allow her to be in charge when they're in bed together, she lets him guide their pace, just the right side of too slow when he kisses his way down her body to put his mouth on her.

"Fuck," she breathes, one hand dropping to his head between her thighs as her hips arch up against his face. He hums and flicks his tongue just right, punching the breath from her lungs. She threads her fingers into his hair and presses her head back into the pillows.

Niall keens when he tucks one and then two long, thick fingers inside of her, crooking them just right. It's good, his tongue against her, hot and wet, his lips soft around her clit even when he sucks, and she could come from this, but it would take ages and she doesn't quite have that much patience. She tugs sharply at his hair, hips twitching when he hums against her. "Stop," she says, tugging again, until he lifts his face and looks at her. He's wet with her from nose to chin and it makes her shudder. "I want--" She cuts herself off, nudging at his shoulder with her knee until he lifts his weight up off her.

She moves quickly, reaching for a condom in the bedside table and rising up onto her knees. "I want to be on top," she tells him, grinning when he rolls immediately to his back, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth and watching her with dark eyes. She leans down to kiss him, tasting herself on his tongue, licking past the backs of his teeth to the ridges of the roof of his mouth.

"Jesus Christ," he grinds out, hands falling to her waist and tugging her to sit astride his hips. Her gasp is lost in the sound of his groan when she slides, wet and open, over the hot, hard length of his cock. " _Niall_ , fuck." He slides his hands up her thighs as she rolls the condom down over his length, fingers digging in just slightly. 

Despite her impatience, Niall sinks down on him slowly, savoring the stretch and fullness, the slight burn that always comes from being with someone so much larger than she. Bressie stays still beneath her, watching her with half-lidded eyes that slip shut when she finally rolls her hips. His hands slide gentle up her thighs and hips, palms grazing the dip of her waist while his fingertips meet to trace up the line of her spine, his hands big enough to span her waist where it's narrowest. He's mumbling under his breath, quiet enough that Niall only catches every third word, but she gets the gist: _beautiful, fuckin' Christ, Niall, darling._

She swivels her hips more quickly, breath stuttering when he presses just right inside her. His hands come around to cup her breasts, pulling at her nipples, and Niall puts her hands atop his, keeping him there, prompting him to grip her more firmly. "Not gonna break me," she insists when he tries to resist, always treating her more gently than she needs, sometimes more gently than she wants.

"Don't wanna - _fuck_ \- bruise you," he stutters out, fingers flexing deliciously when she increases her pace.

"Feels good," she insists breathlessly. "And maybe I won't have to wear that fecking romper Caroline picked for the show."

His abs flex enticingly when he laughs, so Niall sets her hand there, tracing over them with her fingertips, using the new leverage to rise up higher on her knees before dropping back down. "Yes," she hisses when it makes Bressie's hips press up against her, driving him deeper, harder.

Niall is easy enough for it after that, circling her hips as Bressie fucks up into her, his fingers still plucking roughly at her nipples when she comes with a high-pitched cry.

Bressie slows his thrusts, watching her with dark eyes while she breathes hard, slumped over with her hands braced on his chest. "Fuckin' gorgeous," he praises softly, lifting a hand to push the mess of her hair back over her shoulder. She cries out softly when he punches his hips up a bit harder, deliciously oversensitive. "Again, chief?"

"Fuck," she whines when he does it again, her whole body jolting with the heat of it. "Yeah. Yeah, fuck me."

He rolls her beneath him easily, pressing her into the mattress and driving into her, setting a pace that's slow but hard, surrounding her with the heavy bulk of him. He kisses her, just as deep and slow as he fucks her, his tongue hot and insistent in her mouth, stealing the breath from her lungs in the best way.

He doesn't come until she has again, an orgasm that builds slow and pulses through her in hot waves. Bressie presses his mouth to her shoulder when he lets go, his teeth just pressing above the line of her collarbone, careful of her even when he comes.

She squeezes her legs tighter around his hips for a moment when he moves to pull out. "All right?"

He hums. "Crushin' ya."

"Nah." He whimpers when she shifts her hips, tightening around his softening length. "I like it."

"Niall," he chokes out when she does it again.

She relents, unwrapping her legs from his waist, pressing her lips together when her knee twinges. He climbs out of the bed, walking on unsteady legs to the en suite to deal with the condom, returning moments later with a flannel for her to clean up.

When she's finished, he reaches out to brush the back of his finger over the side of her breast. "Don't," she warns when she looks down and sees the already purpling mark there. "I like it." She does, even if her skin has always marked annoyingly easily. It always feels so good that its worth the bruise in the end.

"Makes me feel like I was too rough with you," he says, disregarding her warning.

"You weren't. I like it, Brez."

He leans over her when she lies back against the pillows, brushing his lips over one of the marks on her left breast. Niall lets him, fighting her instinct to arch up into the touch when he moves to the next mark, threading her fingers through the hair at the back of his head, soothing. He presses a lingering kiss between her breasts before moving to the opposite, taking his time until he's apparently satisfied with his apology.

The drapes are still open, which she'll regret in the morning, but now it means that Niall can see Bressie's face in the moonlight when he says, "I have to go back to Dublin tomorrow. For work."

"When are you coming back?"

"Not until Friday."

"Our first show in Cardiff is Friday."

"I know."

Niall shivers, too cool now that she's just lying there. She tugs the duvet up over her bare breasts. "Tonight's it then, head." She leans over to press a chaste kiss to Bressie's bare shoulder.

"For a while at least."

"Then we should make the most of it," she says, scooting closer to him under the covers. "Kiss me."

They kiss until Niall can hardly drag her eyes open, her lips half-numb and limbs heavy. She falls asleep snuggled close to Bressie's chest, breathing in his scent and doing her best to leech his warmth, comfortable and content.

*

Niall offers Louis a brilliant smile when she sees her Friday morning before they head to Wales. "You've really fucked up, haven't you?" she says by way of greeting.

Louis positively fumes. "I didn't fuck up, Nick fucked up," she replies archly. "And I'll thank you to fuck off about it."

Niall turns to Liam, wide-eyed. "I think it's a bit of a sensitive subject," she teases, laughing aloud when Louis storms away, muttering about sharing a car with Zayn. "Are we really not talking about it then?"

"PR says no," Liam answers with a shrug

Niall shrugs. "Good break then?"

Liam launches into a long-winded story about her father's birthday party back in Wolverhampton, and by the times she's finished Harry has arrived and has plenty of stories about what she got up to in LA and a new tattoo to boot.

When Zayn arrives - only two minutes late - Niall pulls her into a hug and pushes back the hood of her jumper to press a kiss to her forehead. Breaks from touring are all well and good, and Niall needs them just as much as the rest of the girls, but it always feels good to get back to it.

*

The fans are preoccupied with Louis and Nick for the first week or so of tour, then Harry trips over her own feet on stage and a fan tweets a photo of Liam petting a border collie outside of a cafe and everything settles back into the usual rhythm of travel and shows and silliness.

"What do you think?" Harry asks when Niall emerges from her bunk. She holds out her iPad so Niall can see photos of a bathing suit. 

"It's...very small," Niall says. She's not been awake long enough to cobble together a more polite response.

Harry doesn't mind anyhow, smiling brilliantly and taking back the tablet. "I know, isn't it great?"

Niall smiles to herself, getting a bottle of juice from the fridge and sitting at the opposite end of the sofa from Harry. She tucks her cold toes beneath Harry's thigh. "D'you know how long until we stop?"

"We've got a while yet." She hands over the tablet again. "This would be perfect for you."

It's almost embarrassing how long they spend choosing bathing suits, for each other and for themselves, but it kills time and keeps Niall from texting Bressie quite so early.

*

"Let's go out!" Harry suggests almost as soon as they've stepped offstage.

"Yes," Niall agrees immediately. She's loved going out in Sweden every other time they've been here; she's always pulled ridiculously attractive people. Maybe that's what she needs to get out of her slump.

"I'm in," Liam says, peeling her sweaty vest up over her head.

Louis shakes her head, pulling the elastic from the end of her braid and loosening the plait. "I think I'm just gonna go back to the hotel." The _and call Nick_ remains unsaid, but they all hear it. She's been down for the last few days, though she's declined to talk about it when any of them have asked.

"Zayn?"

Zayn has already shed her stage clothes and is standing there in a pair of black cotton knickers and a strapless bra. "I'm really tired," she says, stepping into the joggers she wore to the venue. Niall frowns.

"Are you sure?" Liam asks, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah. Just need to catch up on sleep." Liam doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't say anything else about it.

It's always just a little strange, going out in a country where they don't speak the language. The voices tend to fade to a buzz overlaid by lyrics to songs that they also don't understand. But a club is a club, with drinks and dancing and heat and, maybe, a cute boy or girl to help Niall get out of her head.

One hour and three drinks in, a pretty, long-legged blonde walks up to Niall where she's waiting at the bar. "Hi," she greets simply, smile friendly and eyes bright.

"Hello," Niall returns.

"Can I buy your drink for you?" the girl asks in lightly accented English. 

"I've got it, thanks. But you could tell me your name," she adds just quickly enough that the girl's face barely has a chance to fall.

"I'm Sarah."

"Niall. Nice t'meet you." She accepts her drink from the bartender with a thank you and downs half of it in one. "Would you like to dance?"

Sarah is lovely, taller than Niall with an hourglass figure and soft hands that she rests lightly on the back of Niall's neck as they dance. It's been ages since Niall was with a girl, but maybe it's exactly what she needs to burn off some of her energy. It's more work, going to bed with a woman - much more than when she pulls a guy - but it's always so _satisfying_. It feels like more of an accomplishment, bringing off a woman, an affirmation of her power.

But as appealing as it is in theory, the later it gets, the less Niall is interested in taking Sarah back to the hotel.

They're dancing, Sarah's hand resting so low on Niall's back that it's basically on her ass, both sweaty and hot and pressed close together, and Niall--

Niall feels nothing.

She manages to get her phone out of her pocket and tap out a quick SOS to Liam, who appears at Niall's side within the minute because Liam Payne is a brilliant, beautiful, endlessly reliable woman. "Hey!" she calls, speaking loud enough that both Niall and Sarah can hear her over the music. "Harry wants to try some other club she heard about."

It's weak at best, but still better than nothing. Niall puts on a pout and turns to Sarah. "Sorry, babe. I have to go."

"I could--"

"It was so good to meet you, yeah?" Niall interrupts, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Sarah's cheek before catching Liam's wrist in her hand and leading her off the dance floor. "Where's Harry?"

"I texted her to meet us at the door. She really does want to go somewhere else."

There is another club, and lots of drinks, and a whole slew of pretty Swedish girls and boys, all of whom Harry seems to be flirting with at once. By the time they get back to the hotel for the night (with one of the boys, who has his arm looped around Harry's waist as she leads him to the elevator), Niall is very drunk and a little lonely. She sprawls out on the bed, holding her phone above her face, squinting a little at the too-bright screen as she taps out a text to Bressie.

_I'm drunk and I miss you_

_Miss you too chief_ she gets back only a few minutes later.

 _I think about you all the time. I don't waltz text you because I'm afraid I'll bother you but u do._ She groans, rereading what she tapped out, cursing autocorrect. _i* do_ she sends quickly.

_You're never a bother. Text or call whenever you want, Niall._

It's sincere, she knows, and heartfelt, but she's drunk, so, _Even if it's half 2 and I'm having impure thoughts?_

_Even then_

Niall contemplates this, turning on her side and propping her phone against the pillow while she considers what she wants to say. Sexting isn't really her bag; everything sounds silly and makes her giggle more than it turns her on, but right now she _wants_ to do it.

So naturally, she falls asleep.

It's her phone that wakes her the next morning, buzzing incessantly just beside her face. She whimpers in pain - her head kills - and swipes at the screen to make it stop. "'Lo?"

"Bus call in an hour, Niall," Paul says, brusque and too loud. "You up?"

"No," she whines pathetically.

"I don't care if you're hungover, bus call's in an hour, Horan."

"Fifteen minutes."

"Ten. Ten more minutes."

Niall manages a shower and a change of clothes before she has to go down to the bus, her hair in a ragged, mostly wet topknot and hidden beneath the hood of a jumper she found in her overnight bag that she certainly never bought but she thinks she's seen on Zayn.

"Late," Louis chastises when she climbs onto the bus.

"Fuck off, Lou," she mumbles, dropping her bag and collapsing on the sofa just inside the door.

Louis grins. "Harry and Liam are both hungover on the other bus."

"'Waiting on Zayn to leave?"

"She's already asleep," Louis says, nodding back towards the bunks. "I brought you a cinnamon roll from breakfast, if you want." She arches her back, reaching up over her head to flick on the kettle. "I'll even do you a cup of tea."

"When was the last time I told you you're my favorite?"

"It's been far too long, Nialler," Louis replies, matching Niall's serious tone.

It's not until later, after she's had tea and pastry and found her way to her bunk for a kip, that she discovers the texts that she exchanged with Bressie before she passed out. She dials his number straightaway.

"I s'pose I should thank you for humoring me when I drunk-texted you at three in the morning," she says when he answers.

"Nah. It was only half two." He chuckles when she scoffs. "How're you feeling this morning then?"

"Like shite," she answers baldly. "I really am sorry that I bothered you."

"You're not a bother, Niall." His voice is softer when he says, "And I meant what I said. I miss you, too."

She's already convinced herself that he was just humoring her, placating her because she was drunk and he was mostly asleep, so this comes as something of a surprise. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, chief. You can text me whenever you want."

"We have a break next week," she says without thinking about it first, picking at a loose thread at the edge of her blanket. "I'd like to spend it with you." Despite not thinking about it, Niall doesn't want to take it back.

"I'll have to do some work," he says, "but I'd like that."

"All right, then."

*

They go straight from the venue to the airport after their last European show, boarding a posh private plane to London. The five of them drink, still high on adrenaline from the show, chasing crisps with champagne. They're all pissed when they land, painting on their best sober popstar faces for the trip from the plane to each of their respective cars.

Niall is slumped in the backseat of the car when they get to her house, alone but for the driver and Basil in the front, there to make sure that she get home safely. 

"Were you expecting a guest, Niall?" he asks when they drive through her gate, a hint of concern in his voice.

She straightens in her seat to peer out the dark-tinted window and catches sight of the unmistakable figure on her front steps. "It's Bressie." She gathers her things, and by the time she's climbed out of the car, Bressie has already lifted her luggage out of the boot, surely endearing himself to Basil even further.

"Hey," he greets simply, leaning down to kiss the crown of her head when she gives him a quick one-armed hug. She wants to wait to hug him properly until they're alone inside.

"You could've gone inside."

"I wanted to wait for you," he answers quietly.

Niall dismisses Basil as quickly as she can manage, digging out her own keys to unlock the front door, toeing out of her trainers as soon as she's inside.

Bressie carries her bags up to her room despite her protests that it can wait until tomorrow; Niall goes to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water that she drinks leaning against the counter, contemplating whether or not there's a bag of crisps in the pantry.

"How was the show?" he asks when he returns.

"Excellent. There had to have been twenty thousand flower crowns after Harry tweeted about them." There's a pink box on the worktop next to where Bressie is leaned, not anything that she remembers leaving out the last time she was home. "What's that?" she asks, pointing at it.

"A gift. Are you drunk?"

"A little," she answers vaguely, moving to look more closely at the box. "A gift for what?"

"For you, because I wanted to."

Niall flips open the lid - and it's a bakery box, of course, sealed at the edge with a shiny gold sticker that she peels away. Inside are a half-dozen fairy cakes, each different and elaborately decorated. She takes a moment to look - at least four of them are chocolate cake, which bodes well - before closing the lid and looking up at Bressie. "Thank you," she says simply.

"You're welcome."

She takes a step closer, sliding one hand across his abs, fisting the fabric of his tee shirt at his side. "I think we should go upstairs and fuck, then see how many of those we can eat tonight."

Bressie hums, leaning down to brush a ghost of a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I like the way you think, sweetheart."

As it turns out, they can only finish four of the cakes.

*

Niall sleeps late the next day, waking up alone, sprawled out across the middle of her bed, the duvet bunched up around her shoulders where she's snuggled in. She's tempted to roll over and burrow down further, to doze until Bressie comes and finds her, but her bladder has other, more insistent ideas.

In the bathroom, there are two neon green sticky notes on the mirror; she plucks them down and squints blearily at them while she sits on the toilet.

 _Went for a run_ the first one reads. Niall scoffs and stcks it to the wall just above the loo roll. The second one reads, _You were still asleep when I got back, lazy arse. Going to get food for breakfast._ This one makes her grin, and she leans over to pull open one of the vanity drawers so she can stick it to the outside of one of the cosmetic compacts rattling around inside.

She has a quick shower, dresses in cropped joggers and a singlet, and goes down to make a pot of coffee, settling herself at the breakfast bar with an oversized mug (made light and sweet) and her tablet. 

The kitchen is one of Niall's favorite things about her house, second only to her bedroom, just edging out the garden. It was the room she had the most opinions about when she remodeled; she likes to cook and she likes to have people over, and it's important to have a great kitchen for that. She tends to find herself spending time in the kitchen even when she's home alone, camping out at the breakfast bar with whatever she's currently preoccupied with.

She's made herself a second cup of coffee and is scrolling through Twitter when Bressie finally gets back, toting two canvas bags of groceries. "It's about time."

"Says the girl who slept half the day away," Bressie retorts. "Wouldn't've had to go if you'd learn to get groceries in yourself."

"But then what would I need you for?"

He pauses in his unloading to send a downright filthy smile in her direction. "I can think of a few things," he says, low and full of intent.

Niall shivers but hides it behind a noncommittal shrug. "I s'pose." Bressie grins like he knows she's bluffing. "What am I making us for breakfast then?"

Mornings like this, slow and easy, are some of her favorites with Bressie. She can't help thinking about what it might be like to have them all the time.

*

"This is so fucking dangerous."

"It's hot."

"Because you turned the water up to scalding."

Niall turns under the spray - which is blissfully hot, not scalding, for fuck's sake - and glares up at Bressie. "Jesus feckin' Christ, you big baby. We can just forget it, yeah?"

"C'mere," he says, catching her with a big hand wrapped around her bicep when she makes for the shower door, tugging her back against his chest, wet and hot and solid. He leans down to nip at the shell of her ear with his teeth. "Just don't wanna see you break your pretty skull open," he mumbles.

"Fond of my skull, are you?"

He kisses the crown of it. "Fond of all of ya."

Niall turns in his arms, tipping her head back to meet his eyes. "Sap." He grins, tightening his hold on her waist when she rises up on her toes, his hardening cock pressed tight to her stomach. "I trust you," she tells him. "Fuck me against the wall, Bres." 

He groans, sliding his arms down until he has one hooked under her bum and can lift her up, her ankles crossing behind his back, arms draped over his shoulders and looped around his neck. She's pressed back against the tile wall of the shower, cool despite the temperature of the water, his chest shockingly hot against hers in contrast. He still has to dip his head a bit to kiss her, but he does it for a long time, licking into her mouth slow and thorough, pulling her bottom lip between both of his and nipping it with his teeth, a sharp sting that makes her suck in a breath. "For the record," he murmurs, lips grazing hers as he speaks, "I still think this is a terrible idea."

"Yeah, yeah. Broken skull, I heard ye." She makes a fist in the hair at the base of his skull and tugs until he hisses. "There's a condom on that shelf there."

When she imagined the ways that Bressie might possibly drop her during shower sex, she never envisioned his grip slipping because he's laughing too hard at her choice of prophylactic storage location.

*

They're quiet in the car driving home from dinner, Ella Henderson playing softly on the radio, the last gray light of the fading dusk washing the color out of everything. Niall is full and content, warm from the wine she drank but not drunk. They're holding hands between the seats; Bressie's thumb is tracing a path from the side of her thumb, across her wrist, up the opposite side, and back again, soft and nearly mesmerizing.

"You aren't going to wait until you're drunk to tell me you miss me this time, are you?" Bressie asks, turning to look at her as he slows to a stop at a light.

After a long moment, Niall says, "You didn't say anything to me either."

He nods, looking back at the road when the light changes. "You're off doing the popstar thing, Ni. I don't want to be bothering you. Distracting you from doing your job."

"Sometimes I want to be distracted," she says softly. She presses her palm to Bressie's, her hand surrounded by his almost entirely. "And you're never a bother."

He looks over at her, eyes soft, lingering for a beat. "I do miss you when you're gone. I'm so proud of you, and I love that you're getting to have all that, but I miss you."

Niall smiles to herself. Bressie's always been as proud of her as anyone. "Maybe if we talk more, we'll miss each other less."

"Maybe." There's a soft moment, and then he jostles her elbow with his, shooting her a grin, lightening the mood. "Make it harder to forget about me, yeah?"

She huffs a little laugh, shaking her head. "As if I could."

*

"Airport goodbyes are the worst," Niall insists seriously when Bressie offers to go to the airport with her at the end of the week. "Everybody watching, makes me uncomfortable." The worst part, though she doesn't tell him, is thinking about the person you left behind going home without you, being there alone.

He doesn't argue. She lets him take care of her the night before she leaves; he cooks dinner and refuses to let her clean up, and the sex they have is slow and quiet. Niall falls asleep curled into Bressie's chest, leeching the warmth from his skin, his arms wrapped around her, keeping her close.

In the morning, he makes breakfast while she showers and dresses. Her hair is still wet, getting the back and shoulders of her shirt damp when she goes down to the kitchen and finds him standing over the hob stirring a scramble. There's a plate of bacon keeping warm nearby, and slices of bread in the toaster waiting to be put down. 

"You didn't have to do all this."

Bressie smiles, turning to start the toast. "Get the jam out of the fridge?" he asks, ignoring what she said.

They eat at the little table in front of a window that overlooks the garden. The roses have begun to bloom, creamy white and brilliant pink sparkling with dew in the early morning sunlight. Niall scoots her chair close to Bressie's, turning it sideways so she can sit with her legs kicked up across his lap. He eats one-handed, the other on her knee, thumb circling the knobs of bone, the pronounced line of her surgical scar. It tickles, but she doesn't say anything, savoring the touch while she has it.

They're talking quietly, lingering over their coffee, when Niall's phone buzzes behind them on the counter. Bressie stretches out to reach for it, catching it with the tips of his fingers to hand it to her.

"The car will be here a half hour," she says, reading the message. She drops her phone on the table beside her empty plate. "I should dry my hair."

Bressie nods, leaning over to kiss her, soft and slow. "I'll wash up," he says, standing and gathering the plates before she can say anything else.

Niall sits at the table, turned sideways in her chair, watching him in her kitchen, setting their plates in the sink and turning to put the milk back in the fridge, the muscles of his back and shoulders flexing appealingly under the stretch of his tee shirt. "Fuck it," she mutters, pushing out of her chair and rounding the counter quickly.

"Wha--"

Niall kisses the word from his mouth, hooking her hand around the back of his neck to pull him down to her height. Bressie bands an arm around her waist automatically, supporting her when he straightens enough that she's forced to stand on the tips of her toes. His free hand comes up to the back of her head; he makes a discontented noise against her lips. "Your hair."

"I don't care," she insists, nipping at the underside of his jaw. She steps back out of his arms and hoists herself up to sit on the countertop, hooking her feet behind his thighs to pull him in close. "Kiss me."

He smiles at her then, a soft little thing that makes warmth spread through her chest, cradling her face in both of his big, gentle hands. He doesn't say anything, leaning in to kiss her, slow and gentle but deep, enough to make her limbs feel heavy and slow.

They kiss there in the kitchen until her phone buzzes again to tell her that her car has arrived. Her hair is still a damp mess, the breakfast dishes are unwashed, and all of her bags are still upstairs in her room.

It's entirely worth the running around that she has to do to get out of the house, Bressie kissing her again just inside the front door, staying behind to finish the washing up.

Later - hours later, after the airport and takeoff, during which she held Zayn's hand, and three episodes of _Orphan Black_ \- Niall pulls her tablet out of her bag to lose some time playing Candy Crush. Flipping open the cover, she finds a light purple sticky note stuck to the screen.

_I'm here. Any time. Now go smash it, chief._

It's signed with a B and a tiny chicken scratch of a heart. She smiles to herself, tucking the note safely between the pages of the Moleskine she uses for song lyrics.

"What's that then?" Zayn asks, startling Niall out of her happy, floaty headspace. She'd thought Zayn had dozed off during the closing credits of the last episode they watched.

She shrugs. "Just a reminder."

Zayn looks unconvinced, but she doesn't ask any more questions, snuggling down deeper into the too-big hoodie she's wearing.

*

Touring in America is its own animal entirely. Everything is so far apart, meaning that they spend hours and hours on the bus getting from place to place. It's hot; Niall asks Paul why they don't tour North America in the winter, when it isn't as hot as Satan's arsecrack, and gets a lecture about winter precipitation and road conditions and potential cancellations that she never, ever wants to repeat. It's repetitive, and more than a little boring, but it's not _bad_. It's a small price to pay to get to do what they do.

Niall usually stays on bus two with Harry and Liam because Louis is an unbearable slob and Zayn is only marginally better, but she makes her way onto bus one after a petrol stop with a big bag of Sour Patch Kids to share with Louis and a packet of Reese's Pieces for Zayn. It's barely evening, and Niall is so bored that she's anticipating sunset so she has an excuse to go to bed.

"Zayn's asleep," Louis tells her straight off, glancing up from her phone. Niall frowns. 

"Thought we could watch the next one." They've been watching the _Fast and Furious_ films, attempting to put together a definitive ranking, but they can't do that without all three of them.

Louis shrugs, looking at her phone again before she locks the screen and drops it on the sofa cushion. "We could watch something else."

"You pick," Niall says, flopping on the sofa beside her, dropping the bag of sweets in her lap. Louis lights up when she sees what it is.

Instead of getting up to rifle through the mess of DVDs spilling from the cupboard next to the telly, Louis sprawls sideways, draping herself over Niall's lap, nuzzling up under her chin. "What's wrong, Nialler?"

"Nothing." She laughs when Louis pulls back to stare at her in disbelief, blue eyes wide, eyebrows arched up toward her hairline. "Just a little bit of tour funk, that's all. 'm fine, Lou."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Cross my heart," she adds, drawing an _x_ over her left breast, knuckles bumping against Louis' forehead on the second down stroke. She dumps Louis out of her lap and onto the floor of the bus, giggling at her squawk of indignation. "Pick a film, you lump."

*

She reads about a gourmet sweet shop in Vancouver that she insists on visiting. Liam tags along, and Janie from their makeup team, and Niall feels like the proverbial kid in an actual candy store. Liam makes a beeline for the chocolates while Niall chooses from a selection of lollipops made from fresh fruit and flavored marshmallows that are available for purchase by the foot. She snaps a photo and sends it to Bressie. _Help! I can't choose!_

 _Don't choose._ he sends back. _Just get one of everything._

Niall's gotten worse advice.

When, three days later, Bressie gets the box of sweets that she had shipped, she's woken by the buzzing of her phone as he sends a series of photos of himself with his prize - Meyer lemon lollipops and pecan pralines and dark chocolate peanut butter truffles and three full feet of marshmallows flavored with coffee, maple, and pomegranate respectively. Niall laughs, tucked away in her bunk on the bus and trying not to wake Harry or Liam.

 _It's you I'm calling when I crash later_ he sends.

 _Looking forward to it._ Niall replies, completely sincere.

*

"What's wrong, Li?"

Liam looks up from where she's frowning at her phone, her hair frizzing slightly at her temples, bra strap slipping down her shoulder. "Nothing." She shakes her head, glancing back her phone, then tips her head back to meet Niall's eyes. "Sam's being weird. It's nothing."

Liam and Sam have been together for ages, since before things with the band became completely mad. They're so solid that Niall isn't worried; frankly, the girls are all surprised that Sam hasn't proposed yet.

"Wanna play FIFA?" Niall offers, a distraction.

It only takes fifteen minutes to get Liam smiling again, and wouldn't it be nice if it was easy to make everyone so happy?

*

_Bad news chief_

_What's up?_

_Production schedule changed. I'm going to be working in Dublin during your whole week off_

Niall actually pouts at her phone, sending Bressie a string of sadface emojis. They've all been looking forward to this break, talking about it for weeks. Nick is flying out to meet Louis and the two of them are going to Fiji or somewhere completely bonkers; Harry has been going on about the private bungalow she rented somewhere in the Caribbean, where she intends to lie on a beach and get drunk; and Liam and Zayn are both going to London, Liam to see Sam and Zayn to spend some time alone before a side trip home to Bradford. Niall was going to be on the flight to London with Liam and Zayn, but what's she going to do in London if Bressie isn't going to be there?

She's still pouting when she makes her way back to the dressing room where they're all hanging out, killing the last bit of time before they need to get into hair and makeup for the show. Harry and Zayn are sitting on either end of the sofa, Harry methodically peeling an orange and Zayn reading a battered paperback she bought at a hole-in-the-wall used bookstore in Winnipeg. Niall goes to curl up beside Zayn, snuggling into her side so insistently that Zayn lowers her book. "Nialler," she murmurs, brushing her fingers over Niall's arm.

"Bressie has to work the whole time we're off."

"Babe. I'm sorry." She sets her open book on the arm of the sofa so she can wrap her arms around Niall, tugging her close. "That sucks."

Liam, folded up in an armchair opposite the coffee table, looks up from the magazine she's been reading intently. "What sucks?" She pulls a sympathetic face when Niall explains. "Are you still going back home then?"

Is she? She could go back to London, spend a week messing about, have a night or two out with the crew. She could go to Dublin, squat at Bressie's flat there and hope to see him during the few waking hours he'll have outside of a studio.

"Maybe I'll go visit my da instead," she finally answers. A week in Mullingar isn't the worst thing she can imagine, even if it isn't what she was looking forward to.

"You could come with me."

Niall twists her head to look at Harry, who's still tapping away on her phone, smiling softly. "What?"

Harry looks up, locking her phone and setting it aside. "Come with me for the week. The bungalow I rented is private and has like, three bedrooms, I think." She pauses, looking thoughtful. "Or maybe it was four? I don't know, it's more than one, because they didn't have any with just one bedroom." She shrugs, the wide neck of her tee shirt slipping off one shoulder. "There's a private beach, and you can order spa treatments and one-on-one yoga classes and guided meditations."

Sleeping late and napping away the afternoon on a private beach doesn't sound terrible, but, "You've been so excited about taking this vacation by yourself, Haz. Don't you want to be alone?"

"We can be alone together," Harry says, guileless.

"Harry..."

"Come on, it'll be fun," she wheedles. "We can get pissed on fruity tropical cocktails and get seaweed wraps the next day to get rid of the hangover faster."

Niall considers. Being anywhere in the UK is just going to make her think about how close Bressie is while still being inaccessible. At least being on a beach somewhere will be a distraction. "If you're sure you don't mind--"

She's cut off when Harry launches from one end of the sofa to the other, cuddling Niall so enthusiastically that Zayn is nearly crushed beneath their combined weight.

*

"What the fuck are you doing with your life, Haz?"

Harry lifts her head off of the lounge chair she's sprawled in to look at Niall, her messy topknot flopping comically. "Wha'd'ya mean, Ni? 'm a pop star. Right now, I'm drunk on rum punch on a private Caribbean beach with my mate," she says, gesturing expansively.

"No. When you're not, like, being a popstar. Liam has Sam and now Louis has Nick, apparently."

"Are you suggesting that I need a relationship to be doing something with my life? Because that--"

"Harry, no," Niall interrupts. She is much too drunk for one of Harry's independent woman lectures, even if she does agree with them. "Just...what are you doing?"

Harry flops back onto her lounger. "I don't know. Trying to make the most of it, I suppose. It isn't going to last forever." She drains the last of the rum punch in her glass, poking her straw into the ice sadly for a moment before turning a grin on Niall. "I certainly won't look this good in a bikini forever."

Niall snickers and leans back in her chair, gazing up at the sky. The stars are out, more of them than she's used to seeing, twinkling in the blue-black sky. She tries to pick out a constellation, but she's drunk enough that something like vertigo sets in without a steady point in her line of vision, setting her head to spinning.

"D'you have Bressie then?" Niall turns to Harry with a questioning hum. "Liam has Sam, Louis has Nick. Do you have Bressie?"

Niall considers the question, sipping her punch. "He's not my boyfriend, if that's what you mean."

"You know it's not."

Yeah. "I love him," she says with a little shrug. "I miss him something stupid. I don't want anyone else."

Harry smiles, pressing a hand to her chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Harry climbs out of her chair, cooing obnoxiously, and drapes herself over Niall, all long limbs and warm, bare skin, nuzzling her head up under Niall's chin. "You're cute," she murmurs into Niall's neck. And then, a moment later, sadly, "I left my drink."

It's late when Niall finally makes her way to bed, drunk and a little cold from sitting out on the beach for so long. It's early in Ireland, too early, but she taps out a text to Bressie regardless.

_You should know that I miss you._

She doesn't stay awake long enough to see if he replies.

*

The Elevator Incident - as it comes to be known to both the band and the fans - happens a couple of weeks before the end of the North American leg at the venue in Buffalo.

Niall's out by the buses with Mark and Preston, cooling down at the end of a workout, when Paul finds them. "Lunch is up," he announces brusquely, though he grins when Niall scrambles to her feet, brushing off the back of her shorts. 

"I'm starving," she tells him, skipping forward to loop her arm through his. He gives her a look, but doesn't pull away. They've trained him well over the years. "Lead me to the grub!"

Paul mumbles something under his breath - sounds like _pain in me arse_ \- but he guides her back inside the building, Mark and Preston and a handful of roadies tagging along behind them. "You stink," Paul tells her.

"That isn't very nice," she says, making her eyes big and looking up at him. "I smell of hard work and fitness. Saying things like that might discourage me from taking good care of myself." 

He snorts, but he still doesn't pull away, even when she plasters herself closer to his side.

They pile into a big elevator, one made for function rather than style, the walls simple stainless steel, the light fluorescent. Paul pushes the button for the third floor, finally pulling away from Niall to do it, then leans back against the wall beside her. "You could shower before lunch," he suggests, chuckling when Niall scoffs. As if she would let a bit of sweat get between her and lunch.

"Jesus fucking Christ," one of the roadies swears when the elevator lurches. Niall grabs for Paul's arm again when it shudders, the lights flickering above them, and then jerks to a halt.

"Give it a second," Paul says, low and even. Niall counts to ten in her head, feeling less steady with each number. "All right," he says, finally, when Niall has gotten to sixteen in her head and can feel her heart beginning to pound. He doesn't disentangle himself from Niall even when he steps forward to push the emergency call button, talking calmly to the person who answers on the other end.

Niall listens carefully, but her brain catches on the words _stuck_ and _have the problem fixed shortly_ which is about as unspecific as a time can be, isn't it?

Paul thanks the voice, then eases back to lean against the wall, taking Niall with him. "We'll just wait here then," he says, tugging her close, giving her a little squeeze. "They'll have it fixed soon."

The elevator isn't small. Niall reminds herself of that, reminds herself that the walls aren't actually going to close in because that only happens in those fucking movies that Louis likes, not in real life, and this is real life. There are six of them in the elevator, five big, burly guys and Niall, all of them smelling of sweat and suncream, breathing up the oxygen--

"Take a breath."

Paul's voice, firm and insistent but not unkind, breaks through Niall's racing thoughts. She blinks at him, wide-eyed, but does as he says when he repeats the order.

All told, they're in the elevator for twenty minutes, twenty minutes that feels like absolute days to Niall, with her chest constricting and her breaths still coming short until Mark notices and sits beside her, prompting her to breathe along with him, slow and even. Her mind races with horrifying possibilities - not the least of which is that they may truly never get the fuck out of the elevator.

Niall feels out of sorts all afternoon, itchy and fidgety and, honestly, right on the edge of panic pretty much constantly. She nearly hyperventilates in the shower and has to climb out, shampoo edging toward her eyes as she drips all over the floor; she has to leave the glass door open to finish and uses three bath towels to clean up the water when she's finished. If anyone notices, they don't say anything.

The girls stick close to her, one of them always in arm's reach, though they're careful not to crowd her, experienced with how Niall gets when her claustrophobia is triggered.

She holds it together through the show, following it with another shower that soaks the entire little bathroom she's in. Whoever does the laundry for this place is going to think they're the stupidest kind of wasteful, the way she has to use three more towels to clean up the mess.

She's sitting on an uncomfortable sofa, waiting around like everyone else for Harry to finish her shower so they can leave for the next city. She's fucking around on her phone, scrolling through Instagram and then Twitter, wishing that it wasn't still the middle of the night back home.

"Hey," Liam says, sliding onto the sofa beside her. Her hair is still damp from her shower, twisted up in a knot atop her head, and there's just a bit of residual eyeliner smudged beneath her bottom lashes. "I'll kip on bus one if you want the lounge tonight."

A weight she didn't realize she'd been carrying is lifted off Niall's shoulders; sleeping in the dark, enclosed space of her bunk would be torturous after this afternoon. But, "Li, you don't have to do that."

"Lou wants to watch a film." Liam shrugs. She's not a great liar, Liam Payne. Niall loves her desperately.

"You can stay on the bus even if I'm sleeping in the lounge, Li."

"I know." Harry finally emerges from the bathroom, and Liam stands, leaning down to press a kiss to Niall's temple and going to wake Zayn where she's nodded off under a table in the corner.

Harry heads off with Lou when they load up, leaving Niall alone on the bus save for the driver. She putters around half-heartedly for a while, making herself a snack that she only picks at, rearranging the cupboards so the mugs are actually above the kettle, opening the curtain on her bunk wide to clean and air it out. Eventually, she pulls on one of Liam's hoodies - it smells of hotel shampoo and the lavender essential oil she dabs behind her ears to help her sleep - and drags her duvet back the lounge. She starts the DVD player without looking at what's inside, resigning herself to watching _Cruel Intentions_ for the umpteenth time when the menu begins to play.

She makes it to Sebastian and Annette's first meeting before she's reaching for her mobile and tapping through to Bressie's name in her contacts. It's just after one in the morning, still too early back home, but she can't wait any longer. She's still jittery, biting at the skin around her thumbnail while she listens to the call ring through.

"'lo?" Bressie answers blearily. "Niall?"

"Hey. Sorry to wake you."

"No, 's fine," he mumbles. There's a sort of snuffling noise, the sound of his body moving against his sheets. Niall imagines him stretching out his limbs. Bressie sleeps like he's trying to take up as little room as possible, curled onto his side, knees pulled up and one arm tucked underneath the pillow. And each morning, it's like he has to stretch himself back out to his full height and breadth, to open back up to take all the space he's meant. "Are you all right?" he asks, already sounding more awake.

"No. I mean, yeah, I'm fine. Just." She twists the corner of the duvet between her fingers. "We got stuck in an elevator this afternoon, and it's got me all jittery and weird."

"Sweetheart. Are you all right?" he asks again, softer this time. Niall finds herself almost smiling, soothed already by his low, sleep-rough voice.

"Yes. Just wanted to talk to someone who know what it's like." She considers, then amends, "I just wanted to talk you."

"It's your lucky day, chief. I haven't got a run planned, so I've got lots of time to chat."

Niall breathes out a laugh. Bressie might be lying; even if he'd planned a full workout, he'd skip it to make time for her, make it up another day or maybe not at all, but never tell her about any of it. He's so good to her. "Tell me what you do have planned then," she requests, settling back into the corner of the sofa. "Or you could tell me a bedtime story."

"A bedtime story, eh?"

She hums. "One about a queen who made friends with a dragon."

"O' course she made friends with the dragon. He was the good sort, yeah? They'd grown up together."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. When she was a princess and the dragon was the size of a terrier."

When she finally relaxes enough to doze off, it's with Bressie's voice in her ear, spinning a yarn about a queen whose dragon friend kept everyone alive through the harshest winter anyone could remember, lighting hearthfires with its breath and melting the river so they could transport supplies up from the south.

When she wakes in the morning, there's a text from Bressie waiting. _You fell asleep before I got to the end. Call me tonight for the rest._

*

"You should go out with the girls," Bressie advises when Niall tells him that she's been feeling less than excited about touring lately.

"You think so?"

"Yeah. Have some drinks, dance, flirt a bit." He's mumbling, like he gets when he hasn't been getting enough sleep. It makes her guilty; it's nearly two in the morning in London and he stayed up to talk to her.

"Maybe," she says noncommittally. Her stomach has begun to feel a bit weird. "I'll go talk to them about it now. You should get some sleep."

"I'm fine," he insists. "You were going to tell me about that bakery."

"It'll keep. We'll talk soon, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay. G'night, chief."

"Night."

She slips out of her bunk and shuffles to the lounge, where Liam is curled half-asleep on the sofa while an episode of _Friends_ plays on the telly. "Hey," she mumbles when Niall settles on the couch beside her, worming her way into Liam's arms. "All right?"

Niall presses her face to Liam's neck. "I miss Bressie," she whispers. Liam hums. "I think I might be in love with him."

It's shockingly easy to say aloud considering she's never even thought it to herself before, but that should say something about the truth of it. But his suggestion that she go out and _flirt_ of all things - it just made her realize how long it's been since she's thought about being with anyone else. 

"Yeah?" Liam asks, stroking her hand up and down Niall's back.

"Yeah." 

"I think that's great, Nialler."

She doesn't say anything out loud, but Niall thinks it's pretty great, too.

*

Niall sleeps for almost the entire flight back to London at the end of the American leg, leaving her bleary and half-aware of the walk through the airport and the drive back to her house. She spares enough brain power to think about the takeaway she's going to order when she gets there and considers making up a grocery order on her phone before she taps through to Twitter to scroll aimlessly through her feed instead.

At home, she leaves her bags just inside the front door and wanders through to the kitchen, pulling open the fridge to pour herself a glass of water. She freezes when she looks inside; there are vegetables in the crisper, cups of yogurt stacked on a shelf, and a six-pack of the lager she prefers. When she leans down to peer at the bottle of milk, she sees that it's nearly a fortnight from its expiration date.

Curious, she peers around the kitchen while she lets the fridge door fall closed. She spies a loaf of bread next to the toaster, and a peek in the pantry reveals new, unopened boxes of cereal and bags of crisps. She goes back to the fridge and tugs open the crisper drawer to snap a photo of the carrots and string beans and bagged salad inside, then sends it off to Bressie asking, _Are you responsible for this?_

 _Didn't want you to starve._ he replies almost immediately, and Niall can't stop herself from smiling. Alone, like an idiot, staring at a loaf of bread on the worktop. She's never come home from tour to a house that was anything but barren.

_Come help me eat some of it then._

It's been actual months since she's seen Bressie, so it's entirely reasonable that she meets him at the front door, having watched on the security feeds as he came through the gate and parked at the back of the drive. "Hey, darlin'," he greets, smiling down at her.

Niall pushes up onto her toes and wraps her arms around him as soon as he's got the door closed, pressing herself as close as she can manage. "I missed you," she breathes, quiet enough that she isn't sure he'll hear. He does though; his arms tighten around her and he hunches to kiss the top of her head. He's warm and solid, and he smells even better than she remembered, clean and a bit spicy from his cologne, faded through the day.

"Hungry?" he asks after a while. Niall takes one last breath of him and pulls back, nodding. "Let me cook you dinner."

She nods. "All right."

Bressie cooks sausages and a mash - comfort food - and they eat on the sofa, a football game on the telly that they ignore in favor of chatting about their time apart. In spite of their frequent texts and phone calls while Niall was away, they still have plenty to talk about.

That's how they've always been, from the beginning. She never gets tired of Bressie, never runs out of things to say to Bressie. And even when she does, the silences between them are easy, comfortable. He's the first person she thinks of when she has good news or when she's feeling down, homesick or sad or disappointed. She wants him all the time, in her bed and out of it.

Honestly, it's stupid how surprised she's been to realize that she's arse over tits in love with him.

They've long since finished dinner - Bressie took their plates to the kitchen and came back with a fancy chocolate bar that they shared for afters - when Niall slides across the sofa to settle herself in Bressie's lap, interrupting his story about the Sunday roast that Eoghan hosted. She spreads her knees wide around his hips, pressing close so that her breasts are flush against his chest. "Hi."

"Hi," Bressie replies. He's amused, but his hands have already come to rest on her hips, his fingers tucking up beneath the hem of her top.

She leans in to kiss him, just soft. "It's been ages," she whispers against his mouth before kissing him again, deeper, lingering. "I haven't been with anyone since you."

"Niall."

She leans in closer, skimming her lips along the stubble on his jaw and grazing her teeth against the shell of his ear. "Missed you, Brez."

"Jesus, Niall." He kisses her fiercely, his arm coming around her waist to pull her closer. "D'ya want to go to bed?"

She laughs, breathless from the kiss, leaning her forehead against his. "Yeah. I do."

After, when they're sprawled out across the bed, loose-limbed and sated, Bressie pushes up onto his elbow to look down at her. "You said you hadn't been with anyone else," he says. She nods. "Me either, Ni."

She swallows hard. "I don't want to be with anyone else, Brez," she says, just barely louder than a whisper. "I want to be with you."

"Niall," he says, not quite dismissive, but like he thinks that she doesn't really know what she's saying.

"I do." She shrugs, then reaches for him, tugging him back down to the bed and curling into his chest while he pulls the duvet up over them. Bressie might not be convinced, but she's not worried. She's not worried about running out of time with him.

She brings it up again in the morning, when they're having toast and coffee in the kitchen.

"I meant what I said last night," she says, watching Bressie's eyes over the rim of his mug. "I only want to be with you."

"Niall, you--"

"Do you have any idea how much I miss you when I'm gone?" she plows on. "I think about you all the time, and I want to tell you everything that happens." The _I love you_ is on the tip of her tongue when he starts talking.

"Niall. You - I'm too old for you," he says, completely earnest.

She snorts, half-surprised and half-derisive. "Don't be stupid."

"I'm serious. Do you know what people would say?"

"A bunch of shite pulled out of their arses," she snaps. "Fuck what people say."

"Niall--"

"I'm serious. I don't care what people say, Brez." And even if she did, she's very much aware that the only person in the band less likely than Niall to cause a scandal is Liam. 

"Niall. We've only got a week together before I have to go back to Dublin for work, and then you'll be back to touring. Can we just let this lie for now?" He keeps talking even when she opens her mouth to speak. "Just for now, just until we both have time. I promise."

She takes a breath. She's disappointed, but not discouraged. She can wait a bit. "Yeah. All right."

*

"You know you're my best friend, yeah? My favorite person."

Niall was mostly asleep when her mobile rang, vibrating against her chest where it was resting and making her pulse jump. "What are you on about?" she asks, mumbling and disoriented.

"Niall. You know I love you," he says.

"I love you, too, Brez."

"And it would kill me if you didn't any more," he says baldly. "It's all I can think about. It makes my heart race, and my hands are all sweaty."

"Bressie. Niall," she whispers. She feels wide awake now. "That won't happen, I promise. I will always love you."

"Relationships fuck people up all the time," he says, insistent. "You can't be sure."

"I am," she replies simply. And she is. Niall is very much aware that loving someone doesn't mean that you can be with them. She _knows_. But she believes wholeheartedly that no matter what happens between them, she will always love Bressie.

"Niall."

"Do you remember when I called you before the Olympics?" she asks. "And I told you that I was afraid I couldn't do it. That I'd get out there and I'd be the one who fucked it up, who made us look stupid in front of the whole world. In front of the Spice Girls, for fuck's sake." She can hear that he's smiling when he says that he remembers. "Do you remember what you told me? Not the part where you said we'd smash it. What you said when I still wasn't sure I believed you."

"I told you to trust me," he says, "because sometimes the people who love us know us better than we know ourselves."

"Can you trust me?" she asks. "Can you trust me when I tell you that I'm sure?"

"I-- I can try. Niall, I'm still not--"

"I know," she interrupts before he can tell her that he isn't sure about them, that he isn't ready for anything. She understands, but she doesn't really want to hear it. "That's okay. There's time for that." She nibbles at the side of her thumbnail. "Tell me what you've been doing when you aren't thinkin' about me," she prompts, not quite ready to let him go.

*

Niall is unapologetically biased, but her favorite shows are always the ones in Ireland. Australia is brilliant and they have amazing fans in America, and there's always a sort of homecoming feel with the England shows - some of that vicarious, thanks to the other girls - but the Irish shows feel like being properly at _home_. It's been said that Niall is Ireland's favorite daughter, and when they play there, she feels like it might actually be the truth.

The crowd is amazing, loud and engaged, and when Niall slips out her in-ear to hear them, she very nearly tears up. These are _her_ girls; not so long ago she was one of those girls, and she tries very hard to never, ever forget that.

"Nialler," Louis says during one of their between-songs banter sessions.

"Yeah, Lou?"

"You having a good night, love?"

She can't stop the smile that spreads across her face as she looks out over the arena. "You know," she says, casual, "I think I am."

Louis smiles, her face projected up on the big screen directly behind where she's standing. "Brilliant."

It is brilliant.

She just manages to get changed out of her stage clothes before Bressie makes it backstage, pulling her into a hug as soon she emerges from the change room. "You were great," he tells her, quiet, just for her to hear. She's feeling a little emotional, so all she knows to do is laugh. "Are you going out with the girls tonight?"

Niall glances over to where Louis and Liam are bickering about something; Harry has just emerged from the change room, still buttoning her top, the black lace of her bra visible through the sheer fabric. Zayn hasn't made it out of her stage clothes yet, too busy watching something on her phone with Caroline, both of them laughing. And Niall loves her girls, she _loves_ them, but, "No. I want to be with you tonight." Bressie blinks down at her, surprise evident on his face. "Come back to the hotel with me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, course, chief."

Bressie holds her hand in the car on the way to the hotel, telling her about his favorite bits of the concert. She fairly preens under the attention and praise, but there's a quiet undercurrent of anticipation running through her the entire time. It makes her feel twitchy, has her jiggling her foot and spinning her bracelets around her wrist. She remains patient until they get up to her room in the hotel, but when Bressie asks if she's hungry - "You're always hungry after a show, aren't ya?" - she hits her limit.

"Brez," she says, waiting until he turns from where he's flipping open the room service menu. "I love you."

He blinks at her stupidly for a moment, and it's proof of what she's been feeling for ages, the fondness that floods her when he looks so dumb. "Niall, wha--"

"I love you," she repeats, a bit softer, slowly beginning to close the space between them. "Do you love me?"

"You know I do," he says, looking far more sure of himself.

"I think I've been in love with you for ages without even realizing it," she tells him, watching his face carefully and seeing only softness there, only fondness. Only love. She whispers, "Are you in love with me?"

"Niall." She's close enough now that he reaches out to brush the backs of his fingers over her cheek. "Yeah. I am. But Ni--"

"No buts," she interrupts, cheeky.

"The buts are important."

She lifts a pointed eyebrow, but lets the double entendre lie. "Not if they have anything to do with what anyone else thinks, they aren't." She leans into him, bringing one hand up to rest against his chest. He's solid and warm and _here_ , and fuck but she was blind not to realize how much she needs him. How much she loves him. "I don't care about anyone else. I'm in love with you, and I want to be with you."

Bressie takes a step back so he can sit on the side of the bed, tugging her with him so she's standing between his spread legs and they can see each other eye to eye. "What if it's hard?"

Niall shrugs, careless. She doesn't think that it will be, thinks that Bressie is worrying too much, but even if he's right, she's done hard things before. And, besides, "It'll be worth it."

"What if it ruins us?"

The worry is evident in his eyes, in the tension of his shoulders, in the way that his fingers clutch at her waist. As long as she's known him, Bressie has been a solid presence, the person she could go to when she needed reassurance, when she needed to hear that everything was going to be okay. And maybe it should worry her, should make her question things, seeing him so unsure, but if anything it strengthens her resolve.

"It won't," she says, unquestionably certain that she's right. She leans in to kiss him, just a brush of her lips to his. "I promise," she whispers, pulling back just far enough to meet his gaze. "I love you."

He kisses her again, lingering but soft. "I love you."

She presses herself against his chest, kissing him harder. "Tell me again." His chuckle rumbles in his chest, breath fanning over her lips.

"I love you." His hands drop down to cup her arse, making her giggle. "I'm in love with you."

She has to pull away to smile like she wants to - like she can't help - bright and wide and delighted. "O' course you are."

She laughs aloud when he falls back onto the bed, dragging her with him and flipping them so she's pressed into the mattress under his weight, carefully held so he doesn't crush her. He kisses the laugh from her lips and the breath from her lungs, kisses her so long that she loses track of time, forgets how anxious she was, how hyped-up from the show, how hungry she'd been. She forgets everything but Bressie, Bressie right here with her, hers, in love with her.

It's brilliant.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://accidentalambivalence.tumblr.com/).


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